


Words, words, words

by Elennare



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gen, Historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 05:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20092012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elennare/pseuds/Elennare
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley meet up in the Globe once more after Aziraphale returns from Edinburgh.





	Words, words, words

**Author's Note:**

> Set during episode 3. Title is a quote from Hamlet.   
For the "pin or pen"challenge at fan_flashworks. Also for the "history" square of my 100fandoms card. I took the "misunderstandings" interpretation of the prompt... There was meant to be more Hamlet and musing on the slippery nature of words but it didn't work out.

“So, how was Edinburgh? Everything go according to plan?” Crowley asked, lounging back in his front-row seat and watching as the Globe began to fill up.

“Oh, fine, fine,” Aziraphale replied quickly - too quickly, Crowley thought, frowning. What was the angel holding back?

“People blessed? Horse ridden? Cattle stolen?”

“Yes, yes, I got everything done. I even managed to stay on the horse,” Aziraphale said, looking rather pleased with himself at that one. There was still something he wasn’t saying, though, Crowley was sure of it.

“And the tempting went well?” Crowley knew Aziraphale still had the odd qualm about the temptations that fell to his lot as part of the Arrangement, but surely persuading the clan leader hadn’t been particularly tricky. “I do have a reputation to uphold, you know.”

“I know, my dear fellow. It was remarkably easy, once…” Aziraphale trailed off.

“Once…?” Crowley repeated encouragingly.

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment, then continued, blushing, “Once I got him to understand what I was saying! Really, the man’s accent was practically incomprehensible!”

Crowley laughed softly, surprised and delighted, and Aziraphale looked at him sourly.

“Did you know it would be like that? Is that why you were so insistent on tossing for Edinburgh? I dare say your lot had a hand in accents.”

“Never thought of it, just didn’t want the trip,” Crowley replied honestly - bad habit, that, for a demon, a little voice in his head told him. “But as for accents, I rather think that came straight from the top - Tower of Babel, remember? All part of the Great Plan, I expect.”

Now that was more demonic, he thought with satisfaction, watching the absolute horror that spread across Aziraphale’s face at the idea he might actually have questioned God’s plans. Not that Crowley was entirely sure if accents had actually started with Babel, as well as different languages, but that was a minor detail, really. He was a demon, he wasn’t supposed to care about precision.

“Oh goodness, yes, you’re quite right, how very foolish of me,” Aziraphale began to babble. “I’m sure it’s all part of the plan, doubtless it’s a good thing really, it was rather charming once I got used to it…”

“Relax, angel,” Crowley said after a little longer of this - and it was only because the play would be starting soon, not at all because some tiny part of Crowley was feeling a little guilty about sending Aziraphale into a tizzy, he swore. “I don’t think we came up with accents, but I’ve certainly used them to my advantage a time or two - starting misunderstandings, sowing discord, you get the idea. Had a hand in setting up some minor dialect differences, even, words that mean completely different things on one side or another of a border.”

“Really?” Aziraphale asked, distracted from his spiral of panic by this, just as Crowley had known he would be. “Which ones?”

“Ones I should probably not say in a crowded theater,” Crowley replied, smirking, and Aziraphale scrunched up his nose.

“You would,” he said. Then, looking around, he went on, “It really is crowded! You must have pulled off quite a miracle.” He beamed at Crowley, who most definitely did not feel a completely ridiculous urge to beam back. Absolutely not.

“Oh, you know, favour for a favour and all that. Think nothing of it,” he drawled. “I just hope he writes another funny one next.”

“Well, thank you, dear boy - ” Aziraphale began, and Crowley cut him off with a groan.

“Don’t thank me, that just makes it worse, you know it does,” he complained, trying to convince himself that he was not enjoying the way Aziraphale looked at him, all sparkling eyes and practically glowing smile. Crowley could be very good at lying to himself - he was a demon after all, lying was what he did - but this was pushing even his skill.

Fortunately, Aziraphale didn’t push the matter any further, as the playwright himself walked onto the stage at that moment to welcome the crowd. (And if it was a good five minutes before he’d intended to make his appearance, well, who was to know? There was really only so much Crowley could take.)

“It’s starting!” Aziraphale exclaimed, and turned his attention to the stage.

If anyone asked, Crowley decided, he’d say he’d been here to cause trouble. Or maybe to observe the play and pick up ideas; Shakespeare was a genius at understanding humans, after all, and it had the advantage of not having to exert himself in actual trouble-making. He’d even pay enough attention for it to pass muster… and the rest of his attention would most certainly not going towards enjoying the angel’s utter fascination with the play. He would definitely not be watching Aziraphale’s reactions far more attentively than anything happening on stage, that was patently absurd.

And, having thus settled what he would not be doing to his own satisfaction, Crowley proceeded to do precisely that.


End file.
